Killing Me Slowly
by BrokenHazelEyes
Summary: Taken away by a sadistic killer, Stiles is forced to fight for his life while Derek and the Pack desperately try to find a trace of him. With every secret known, and no where to run, how long can Stiles survive the torture? And, if he does, will Derek find him in time? Rated "M" for graphic torture and language.


A/N: I do not own Teen Wolf (and I know nearly nothing about the show, for record), or any mentions of the devices used in the SAW movies. Also, most of the quotes are just ones I made up quick, if I do get it off a source, it will be listed at the bottom of the chapter. This is not based off SAW, but you may hear a few things that are related to the movies. There will probably be a few OC characters, and I do own those. Enjoy, and please comment. Thank you.

**We are not afraid of Death, but of how we meet it. **

It was three weeks of Hell, since Stiles dropped off the face of the world. Not even a pack of Werewolves could find a trace of his scent. There were no signs that he was even alive. The skies above Beacon Hills were a gray, ugly shade and rain poured across the sky, racing the lightning to the ground.

Icy conditions made it nearly impossible to send out a police squad- and the weather seemed to only be on Stiles' abductor's side. Mr. Stilinski was nearly gone with rage, making it so that he was declared unfit for duty. His eyes were glazed over, and bags hung over his hallow cheeks. Even his teeth seemed to rot with pain.

No one even knew what happened that Sunday night, the day Stiles Stilinksi disappeared without a trace.

**There is nothing to fear, Child, except fear itself and the pain it brings.**

Stiles awoke with the feeling of daggers being shoved into his skull, a nasty feeling in the least. His mouth tasted of stale iron and had that odd slimy feel that blood always had. His hands were bound, feet sprawled out in odd directions away from his body, and one of his legs was twisted at an odd angle. Not broken, but aching like it had been kicked over and over by a Quarterback.

"Hasn't your mother always said to watch your back?"

Stiles spun around, nearly screaming as his leg and ankle protested loudly. The voice was coming from nowhere, echoing in his ears like a sick melody. It was rough, almost slurred, and full of mischief. Stiles had learned from his time from the wolves that this was an Alpha, but didn't have the growly tone to it.

"Who are you?" Stiles spat, feeling blood and saliva run down his chin. His hands twisted in the rope, and the skin tore like tissue paper. He screamed, and the voice laughed.

"All in due time, Stiles… All in due time."

Stiles panted, leaning forward with tears in his eyes. Razor wire, he thought brokenly, the rope was bound in razor wire. It snaked around his wrists, up to his elbows and the more he twitched the deeper it dug in and _ripped. _There was no way he'd be able to free himself, his pain tolerance wasn't nearly high enough.

"Playing with wild animals is dangerous, you know…" The voice slurred again, and then was cut off by a screech. "Someone might get hurt…"

"Who the fuck are you!?" Stiles screamed one more time, jerking forward on instinct and howled at the pain. He nearly laughed when he realized his scream was his own, and then paled. The background noise… The growls… That was from the Alpha attack.

"Manners, Stiles, I am at the advantage here, and unless you wish to die here, in this room, I suggest you listen."

The lights in the room, industrial ones from the way Stiles was blinded, flicked on and the blood glowed an eerie red, contrasted sharply against pale flesh.

"I know you love the sight of blood, Stiles…" The voice murmured, almost lovingly, "And all those razors in your room, I think you love the sight nearly as much as me…"

Stiles stopped breathing, his body nearly shutting down. How? No one, not his father, not the pack, knew of the cutting. It had been a secret, hidden since his mother's death!

"I know everything about you," the voice hissed, slicing through the air, "I know about your Mother, the blades, your lovers… I. Know. Everything."

Stiles was shaking now, half-passed out and in a cold sweat. The pain hurt, but the fear of being stripped to his core in front of this… voice… scared him the most.

"Look how eager you are... For the pain... The blood…" Stiles ducked his head in shame as the blood bubbled up and slid down his arm. It was familiar and comforting- he wanted to relish in it. He was sick.

"Time for you to sleep..."

Stiles fell on his side, a shock of electricity flying through his veins, and laid there- eyes wide and breathing heavy.

A razor blade slid next to his face, and the voice lost the buzzy tone, and there was no doubt in Stiles mind- the man was in the room with him. Before he would get a look, the lights flickered off and he went blind.

"Sweet dreams, Stiles…"

**Wait! I'm coming undone today; I'm coming undone, what looks so strong… So delicate! **

Derek woke with a gasp, the feeling of pain racing up and down his forearms. His eyes were wild, red, and darted over the room like there was a demon waiting to be found. He let his head fall in his hands, and took a deep breath. There was a flurry of activity in his brain, and he couldn't concentrate.

The pack was asleep, having dreams or nightmares of their own, and thus Derek was alone. He laid back down, closing his eyes after looking at the glowing numbers on the clock signaling it was too early to rise, and let sleep take him.

_"Sweet dreams, Stiles…." _


End file.
